


Gretna

by chewsdaychillin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gretna Green, M/M, Scotland, martin's poetry, oh my god they eloped, post-160, safe house, we out here being enamoured with keats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22721782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewsdaychillin/pseuds/chewsdaychillin
Summary: On the way to the safehouse they drive over the Scottish boarder and past Gretna Green...Jus some Martin POV romantic poetry...
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Gretna

The highland road has taken us up past a sign tonight --   
For a place where people run away   
To get married. 

He is watching me sleep,   
I’m still groggy, head heavy on the orange window.   
It’s foggy, but it doesn’t worry me,  
Now that we’re out of London.   
The mist keeps other cars from fussing;   
They give us the inside lane.   
He shifts gear quietly and the raindrops race each other in  
Diamond tracks down the window pane

The sign comes out of the mist like a lighthouse,  
I read it like a lullaby:   
Gretna Green.   
He must have seen   
The way I shifted against the seatbelt.

It has been the longest time and I am ill   
And rusty at these numbers.   
But lovers did not come here to write poorly rhyming poetry   
Or see the landscape’s wonders.  
They came to make their promises   
And keep them in their giddy hearts.  
They came to swear in private   
Knowing only death could their love part.

Their carriage wheels skipped through mud,  
Skirts whirled in jubilation,  
And they sang and laughed in freedom,  
Spinning round, exhilaration   
Blossoming as they passed over that boarder-line   
of mossy stones 

Now it’s power lines. 

And services, and coffee,  
And trucks and vans and lorries, 

And us.  
Two runaways.   
Two strangers to the highlands.   
Taking stuttering warmth and keeping it   
In quilts and sleeping silence.

Death hasn’t managed to part us.  
Nor loneliness.  
Nor fear.  
He thinks he isn’t human and   
I think I’ve always loved him. 

His lips are ginger as he says ‘I think we’re nearly there’.  
My chest skips like a nervous lass   
In her carriage long ago,   
It hasn’t moved like that in ages,   
But --   
Both his hands are on the wheel;   
There is nothing to be scared of. 

He means we’re nearly there in terms of miles left from now,   
But I watch him drive   
And read the signs,   
And my thoughts bow 

Not to distance  
But to eloping lovers’ vows. 

**Author's Note:**

> let it be known i am a screenwriter anfbewibgwei but honestly this was fun so hope u enjoyed ! :)


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